


Metastasize

by the_authors_exploits



Series: Strangers in Nothing but Name [4]
Category: Age of Ultron - Fandom, Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Dissociation, Gen, M/M, Swearing, disregarding most canon, i dont remember anything about AoU and ive never written the maximoffs before im so sorry, jason makes friends...and then things happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-07 18:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6819205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Run boy run, this world is not made for you; Run boy run, they're trying to catch you"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Go make yourself some friends...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Songs are a great inspiration.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eje2r90MkGE)  
>  also, I altered a few small details from the previous installment; basically, I had said that the Avengers tried to keep Jason's identity as Phoenix on the down low but that just didn't fit at all with the rest of my plans, and then I also changed the Bonus chapter because it was pointed out that the segment was sort of out of character.

“Todd? Todd, wait up; Jason!”

Jason huffs in annoyance, and his breath puffs his bangs up; Natasha might start hounding him to get a haircut, but if he could get Bucky on his side she can’t touch him with scissors... “What do you want?”

The brunette boy comes bounding up from the curb, a sort of bashful smile on his face and a camera around his neck; as he draws closer, he brings the camera up to his eyes and begins clicking away. “Can I get an interview, Jason?”

Jason turns away; he just wants to go home. It wasn’t that school sucked, just that his classmates were absolute morons sometimes, and Jason has a headache; he wants to go home, grab a brownie from the batch Clint dropped off over the weekend, and then watch some TV. Homework can wait, at least until his headache goes away.

“Wait, Jason! Wait, just a few lines; for an exclusive? Like, what’s it like to live with Tony Stark? Or, give us some secrets about Stark Innovations for the coming year?” The reporter is relentless, hurrying forward to get shots of Jason’s face.

“How about no?”

“Aww, come on! Just a few lines? Please?”

Jason shoves the camera away, though it really isn’t that intrusive, and glares up at the other boy. “What do you want? Who are you even working for?”

“Oh.” He settles the camera down. “Sorry, uh, I’m Peter Parker and I work for the Bugle; I was hoping to just get a short story from you? With the Tech Gala coming up, my boss wants to run an exclusive on Stark and everyone holed up in the tower.”

“But it’s hard to nail down Tony for a small, geeky reporter like yourself, right?”

Peter flaps his arms, shrugging. “Yup…”

Jason nods, but still turns away; perhaps his plan to walk home today wasn’t the best idea. He shoulders his messenger bag higher. “Well you can tell your boss just that then; see ya.”

“Wait, please! Look, he’s going to fire me if I don’t get this article in!”

“I can’t get you an audience with him, sorry not sorry.”

Peter skips to catch up. “Yeah, but you’re the next best thing! I mean, you live in his tower, right? And with the Avengers, even on the team yourself at such a young age; not to mention you’ve got ties with Stark and Wayne!”

Jason flips him the bird.

“I’m gonna lose my job!”

The desperation catches Jason, makes him pause; hesitate. He studies Parker’s face for any signs of deception, of just some greedy reporter out to make a few extra bucks on a good article like he’d first assumed; nope, total honesty and hope.

“I’ll buy you a coffee; Starbucks?”

Jason smirks. “Reporters really do bribe stories out of their subjects, huh?”

Peter flushes. “That wasn’t… I didn’t mean…”

Jason laughs; he still, however, turns for home. But…he doesn’t have anything better to do on Saturday. “Tell ya what: you can get twenty minutes of my time on Saturday. Sound good?”

“Wait…really?!”

Jason nods; aspirin. Aspirin sounds so good right now.

“Wow, yeah! That sounds great; uhh, is ten good?”

“The morning?”

Peter nods.

“Fine; meet me at Stark Tower.”

Peter arrives in a taxi at promptly ten O’clock, but Jason doesn’t show until about 10:35. He’s wearing a camo green jacket and he’s got a set of headphones in and when he catches sight of Peter sitting on a bench just outside the doors he looks surprised.

“You actually came?” He tugs an earphone loose.

Peter stands to greet him, chewing nervously on his lip. “Uhh, well, you did say to meet you at ten…”

Jason regards him for a minute; then he shakes himself and shrugs. “I didn’t actually expect you to come; let me go wake up Happy.”

He expects that to be a dog, and wonders why Jason Todd named his dog Happy, but it ends up being a slightly grumpy and exasperated man who still manages to be way too excited to drive a car.

“Jason, let me tell you I am an exceptional driver and anything Tony may have said is a lie; I’ve never hit a curb in my entire life!”

Jason flaps a hand and flicks through his phone, completely ignoring Peter. “I know, Hap; s’all good.”

“So, about that interview…?” Peter had been lucky to get an extension and he really didn’t want to push his luck anymore than need be.

“Geez, at least let me get breakfast before you start hounding me.” Jason huffs, and Peter shuts up; it would appear that he has no sway in the matter. He’s really a bad interviewer, is so much better at photography.

Finally, after another twenty minutes in traffic and thirteen waiting in line at Starbucks, Jason and Peter sit across from each other; Jason picks at the wrapping on his muffin and watches the other boy stonily. “Alright,” he bites into the muffin top. “Shoot.”

“Uh, well; ok, does Tony plan to unveil something at the Tech Gala next month?”

Jason whistles. “You sure do want an advanced story.”

“Well, if the Bugle can run even just a rumor from a good source we’re likely to lead when all the news breaks.” Peter shrugs; he just sells pictures…normally. “So? Anything?”

“I think he might be working on an artificial intelligence right now.”

“Something like JARVIS?”

“More advanced? I dunno, he hasn’t let me in the labs for a while.”

Peter pauses. “You’re allowed in the labs?”

Jason squints, suspicious. “Sometimes; his personal labs, not Stark Innovations labs.”

It’s Peter’s turn to whistle. “That’s got to be so cool! What’s it like? Is he as disorganized as everyone says? What about his projects?”

“Not really disorganized; I mean, sure there are piles of equipment around and not everything is put away, but he knows where pretty much everything is.”

“What I would give to watch him work…”

Jason raises a brow. “Seriously?”

Peter shrugs; “I’m more into genetic science, but technology is fascinating. I mean, when you get down to the nitty gritty of everything, nearly all aspects of science overlap at one point, am I right?”

Jason huffs into his cup. “I suppose so; I’m more into literature.”

“Really?”

Jason hums. “So…” he begins. “If you’re looking for information on the TechGala, why not talk with Osborn? He’s in Manhattan, closer to the Bugle, and probably has plans for it.”

“Well, we are; I mean, another journalist had that job.” Peter averts his eyes. “I think my boss really wants to fire me… He knows how difficult it is to talk to Stark, so he sent me to get that story. I’m a photographer, and I normally get good pictures of Spiderman but my boss is getting tired of that—” Jason vaguely remembers something about a Sandman in Manhattan Shield almost deployed the Avengers for “—and wants me out; I mean, I could technically sell my pictures anywhere. But I’ve worked with the Bugle for so long, it’s practically like I have a contract with them.”

“That sounds stupid.”

“I…I guess it is, but it’s like it’s the only way for me to get out of the loop of selling to Jameson.”

Jason shakes his head. “It’s still stupid; it’s just, what? A courtesy? Not even that, more like a formality. No need to go through all this anxiety if you can just go sell Spiderman pictures to any other newspaper; you’re a freelancer, right? Doing what you want is part of the job.” He looks out the window and smiles at a poodle waiting for their owner by a bike rack. “Try Gotham; they’re always interested in hero stories.”

“Speaking of Gotham, do you think I could get an interview with Wayne when he comes into town?” As much as a horrible interviewer Peter is, if he could set the Bugle up with an exclusive then he might just get back into Jameson’s favor.

Jason snaps back, glares. “No, why should I?”

“I just,” Peter blinks. “I mean, I know what the media’s said about your relationship with him but I thought…I mean, you’re still seen with Richard Grayson, and Timothy Drake-Wayne went to your performance the other week. I just thought…” he trails off. “Sorry.”

Jason tosses his muffin down; he’s lost his appetite. “The media was right for once; I haven’t talked with Da—with Bruce since the court meeting.”

Peter flushes. “O-oh. I’m sorry, seriously, I didn’t mean—”

“Whatever,” Jason tucks the muffin into his coat pocket for later; waste not, want not. “What else do you need to not get fired?”

“Umm…well, what’s it like to live and work with the Avengers?”

“Fascinating,” he deadpans; “there’s the guy with explosive arrows, the badass chick with electrifying bangles, a man who’s obsessed with making metal suits for all his friends, unofficially a dude who likes birds way too much, a freaking thunder god, shapeshifter, and two elderly men who really should retire.”

He shouldn’t laugh, he really shouldn’t, but he does anyway; he tries to hide it quickly, but his amusement is catching and even Jason quirks a smirk. “Can I quote you on that?” he asks, when he can talk and not laugh.

“I dunno, Natasha might lecture me on the bangle bit and I know Bucky’s getting tired of the ‘old geezer’ jokes.”

They part after another hour; Peter has vague notes he knows Jameson will have elaborated, like any other media outlet, but Jason was elusive with nearly all his answers. Still, Peter is grateful; this should save him from getting kicked out of the Bugle forever. And once Spiderman gets back into society’s good graces, Jameson will want those pictures again.

And if he thinks he might understand the miracle child Jason Todd just a little better, then he keeps that thought to himself.


	2. ...or you'll be lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take too much inspiration from songs...

The milk is easy to smuggle; Jason dumps some in a bowl, claps the cover on it, and tucks it in his jacket pocket or at the base of his back, in his waistband. Today, he tucks it into his coat pocket and goes to the door casually, takes the handle in hand, waves at Steve. “See ya tonight!”

“Have fun at school!”

Bucky comes from down the hall, his toothbrush hanging from his mouth, and he points a finger at Jason; it’s his signature _listen to me or I’ll ground you_ pose. “’Ake a a’i.”

Jason laughs. “What?”

Bucky takes his toothbrush out and mumbles around a mouthful of toothpaste. “’ake a taxi.”

“Oh yeah,” Steve looks up from the newspaper he’s reading. “It’s supposed to snow today, so take a taxi or have Happy drive you and pick you up, ok?”

Jason nods and steps out. “Yeah, ok; bye!”

He takes the elevator down to the first floor lobby, but he doesn’t go for a taxi nor does he turn right for his school; instead, he goes left and down three buildings before ducking into an alley way. He pulls out the container of milk and pops the top, making kissy noises to draw out his new companion. “Come on, Duchess, where you at?”

An empty can topples over down the way and around a dumpster comes a heavyset mangly looking gray cat; she stops a few feet from Jason and licks her lips. He grins at her, shoves the container of milk towards her. “Hello; are you hungry? Hey, find a nice vent somewhere to sleep next to. It’s supposed to snow today.”

When she just watches him with wide green eyes, he grins and leaves, backing up slowly to not startle her, and heads for school.

That night, Steve goes into the cupboard to find something to put the leftovers in and rattles around before turning to his companions in annoyance. “Where’s all our Tupperware going?”

Jason shrugs and hurriedly steps out of the room, leaving Bucky to mull over the mysterious vanishing Tupperware.

During the week, Jason meets with Peter again; Jason doesn’t mind Peter. He’s reminded of Dick a little bit, kind face and open heart; the good thing is Jason can poke and prod at Peter and Peter lets him. He twists the camera around in his hands and peers into the lens.

“Why’d you choose photography as a hobby?”

Peter scratches at his chin. “Hm, I dunno; I guess it’s like…well, photographs capture something. A moment, something personal and meaningful. There was once a belief that photographs captured part of the subject’s soul, or steals the soul entirely, and…I guess that’s just an interesting thing to think about. That I’ve got little pieces of people in my camera.”

Jason gapes. “That’s the creepiest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Peter laughs; that’s what Jason likes about Peter.

First of all, he’s way more mature than most kids Jason is surrounded by. Considering there’s just a few years between them, he appreciates that he’s found someone seemingly intelligent and fun and chill; someone who isn’t from _before_.

Peter takes the camera from Jason, lifts it up to snap a picture, but pauses. “Can I?” he asks.

Jason thinks about it for a minute; “I doubt I have a soul for you to capture.” Not many people believe the lies that Jason was kept in a mental institution after losing his mind to the Joker’s torture and was integrated back into society when he was healed; most people go with the cover up story that it wasn’t Jason’s body found at the warehouse, but some other kid’s. That Jason suffered amnesia and was picked up by the Avengers. Hardly anyone thinks that he was resurrected. He’s not sure which Peter believes.

Peter puts the camera down. “Of course you do,” he says it with such conviction Jason believes it for a moment. “But I won’t pressure you.”

That’s another thing Jason likes about Peter; he doesn’t push or force. He respects boundaries and doesn’t ask questions when Jason shies away from certain topics; and it’s not the sort of delicate tip-toing Dick sometimes does, or the unsure pinch to Tim’s face when they do interact. It’s an understanding and accepting sort of motion, the thing that people do when they totally accept something for face value.

If Jason doesn’t want to talk about Wayne, Peter doesn’t ask about him; if Jason shakes his head about going hardware shopping with Peter because Aunt May’s door needs fixing, Peter nods and moves on. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t push, he doesn’t seem to want to know why Jason avoids enclosed spaces or large crowds or why Jason sometimes asks to take Peter’s leftovers home—he knows it’s not because the Avengers don’t feed the kid.

And when Bucky is trying to act as inconspicuous as possible when he asks who Jason’s new friend is, Peter laughs about the story when Jason tells him.

A few nights later, Jason kicks a leg onto the coffee table and laughs when Steve tries to lift Thor’s hammer, good naturedly punching Sam in the arm for stealing the last orange cream soda; it’s a get together, unprofessional, meant to just be a relaxing evening. They’ve had a nice heavy supper, Clint is making funny faces at Bruce, Natasha casually sips a glass of wine, Tony is babbling and the only one who seems genuinely interested is Rhodey. Bucky pats Steve’s shoulder when he sits back down.

“It’s ok, you can still wield a shield; who cares about some foreign hammer?”

Jason reaches for Steve’s untouched beer, but gets his hand slapped away.

“Not until you’re twenty-one.”

Jason sticks his tongue out and wrestles the soda from Sam; Sam lets him, slings an arm over the back of the couch, and Jason tips sideways.

“So what is, pointbreak? Who so ever holds Thor’s fingerprints can lift it?”

Jason laughs.

“Fair explanation, my friend, but I have a simpler one.” Thor hefts his hammer; he smirks. “You are not worthy.”

Jason barely has time to wonder what it would be like to be worthy before speakers are suddenly screaming and everyone flinches, covering their ears. As the sound dissipates, Steve stands slowly, Bucky positioning for the offensive, as a _motherfucking robot_ waltz into the room, talking calmly and evenly.

“How could you be worthy?” it says, and Jason doesn’t fight Sam when the man pulls him behind the couch. “You’re all killers.”

Steve calls to Tony, who calls to JARVIS, who doesn’t answer.

The robot keeps talking. “I’m sorry, I was asleep or I was a dream.”

Tony tries to reboot the AI; Clint catches Natasha’s eye and they begin moving, slowly, into formation.

The robot keeps talking, over their voices, about waking up and terrible noises and strings. “I killed the other guy.”

“You killed someone?” Steve asks, clarifying.

“Wouldn’t have been my first call.”

Jason doubts it, and from the tensing of Bucky’s shoulders so does he. Thor asks for the robot’s creator, and out comes Tony’s voice, talking of armor for the world and the name Ultron.

“In the flesh,” Ultron gloats. “No, not yet.”

Thor’s hand tightens on his hammer, Jason glances about the room for cover; if this was Stark’s secret project, then no way the couch is going to be good cover.

“I’m on a mission,” the thing continues to explain and god Jason is so tired of the monologuing villain trope! “The peace of our time.”

The next few seconds go by in quick succession: first, the walls break and in come suits, more robots, and second Steve does the first thing that comes to mind—he finds a shield. Coincidently, the coffee table. It’s not as good as his shield and barely stops the robots, Steve going flying as they barrel through; Sam pulls Jason to the ground in time to avoid the flying debris and then Sam is gone, running for a weapon or something. Sam doesn’t know better than to give Jason an order to stay put or go hide and Jason hears Bucky call after Jason when he flips into the fray.

It’s chaos; Natasha swings from a height, how she got there Clint doesn’t question, and thrusts a knife into the robot. Thor swings his hammer around and Rhodey reasons lightning against an electronic might be the best thing or the worst; somehow, miraculously, Jason only gets tossed onto the bar once before Ultron retreats.

Later, when Bucky is pressing antibiotic cream to a cut on Jason’s forehead and Thor and Clint are picking through the debris of the wrecked room, when Steve and Tony and Bruce are yelling in a side room and Natasha is pushing Sam and Rhodey away, Bucky takes Jason’s chin in hand and holds direct eye contact with him.

“Jason,” Bucky begins and Jason listens because that’s Bucky’s serious tone. “We’re about to go to war; you don’t have to join us. It’d probably be safer if you didn’t; I would like you to stay behind, but I know better than to leave you behind against your will. So the question is: are you going to stay?”

“Hell no.” Jason thinks of a redheaded girl in a wheelchair, of a tombstone, of a manor and a cave and a suit and a name. “I’m fighting with you; if we’re going to war, then…”

Then he’ll be a good soldier.


	3. They're dying to stop you

Admittedly, he was a good soldier up until the witch came into play; Bucky is proud of Jason. For once, Jason wasn’t taking risks, wasn’t running off on his own or straying too far from the group; Jason was sticking to Bucky or Steve or Thor, staying close and safe and within reach. Bucky is proud.

And then some sort of magic came into play and sometimes Bucky forgets he went through trauma too; sometimes he forgets that he was brainwashed and tortured, sometimes he forgets the cold of an enclosed space and the feeling of numbness as he falls asleep, sometimes he forgets he was a _murderer_. So when a red mist fogs over his eyes, he _sees_ things and he _remembers_ ; he remembers a couple in a crashed car with bullet holes through their heads, he feels the electricity run through his mind, feels his teeth grit, he sees faces he thinks he recognizes, he hears _“til the end of the line”_ , and then his memories turn into a nightmare.

He sees Natasha’s face as it turns purple, his hands wrapped tight around her neck; he looks up and there’s Clint pinned to the wall with a pole in his abdomen. Tony’s missing his arc reactor, and somehow Bucky knows he tossed Thor over the edge of the building which makes no sense because Thor can fly and yet Bucky believes it. And then Steve and Jason are in from of him, and he takes pleasure in snapping Jason’s neck. He ignores the boy’s tears, the kid’s cries of _“don’t do this please”_ , and twists his head to the side; Steve is slower to go. He begins with a right hook that breaks that perfect nose, and then he pummels him until he’s not breathing.

Sometimes Bucky forgets he went through terrible things when he’s trying to support someone else all the time.

So when he snaps out of it to Jason stumbling around and calling for him, he doesn’t respond; if he does, he thinks he might take that face in his hands and betray Jason, feel his neck break and laugh. So he stays where he is, in the shadows of the compound, and hopes Jason doesn’t find him.

But Jason sounds desperate and he’s screaming himself hoarse now. _“BUCKY! PLEASE!”_

Bucky remembers something Steve had told him once, about how Bucky wasn’t the Winter Soldier, and he remembers telling himself late at night in rundown motels how he wasn’t defined by what the Winter Soldier had done but what Bucky does now. And right now Bucky has a kid to take care of; he tries to swallow the anxiety and fear and hate, to shove his emotions away, and he leans forward. “Jason, get over here; Jason!”

The kid comes, stumbling and unsteady, and Bucky pulls him close; they huddle in this dark corner, with Jason tightly held in Bucky’s not-arm, and Bucky unhooks one of his guns to point out into the abyss. Jason shakes and shivers, and Bucky keeps him close. The lights play games on the walls and Bucky keeps tugging them backwards, further into the corner, for safety and hopes of not being found; he knows it’s irrational, that whoever would find them would be Thor or Steve, but there’s that inkling of cold gripping fear that tells him whoever comes will hurt him. Will make him hurt others again, will take Jason and blow him up.

So Bucky takes a pop shot when a shadow moves in front of them and Jason whimpers, turns away into Bucky’s shoulder. “Get back!” he warns.

“Buck, it’s me; it’s Steve.”

“Stay away.”

“Bucky, I’m not going to hurt you; whatever you’re seeing, whatever you saw, it’s a trick. It’s not real.”

It was, Bucky thinks, at one point, and he shuffles back again but there’s nowhere to go. “I’m not going to hurt people again; you can’t make me!”

Steve crouches low, slowly, keeps his hands in view. “I know; that wasn’t you. It was never you.”

“I wouldn’t kill people; innocent people.” Not people he loves.

“No,” Steve reassures. “You wouldn’t.” He takes a hesitate halfstep forward, still crouched. “Bucky, look at me; would you hurt me?”

Bucky doesn’t answer; he doesn’t think he would, but it’s always a possibility. He has before, even if the programming was breaking then.

“Alright; would you hurt Jason?”

He doesn’t think he would; he can feel Jason shaking against his side, shifting periodically as if he can’t stay still. “No.”

“Are you hurting him now?”

Bucky shakes his head, turns hurriedly to make sure. “No, I-I’m not.”

Steve nods. “You aren’t going to hurt me; and I’m not going to hurt you, or Jason.” Another half-shuffle forward. “Will you put the gun down?”

Bucky does; it takes some more coaxing to get him out of the corner, to actually let go of the gun, and to let Steve look both of them over for any injuries, but he does it. He lets Steve run his hands over his head, across his shoulder blades, down his arms; he captures Steve’s hand and squeezes, not too tight, but tight enough to convey what he wants to say. To say thank you, to say I love you, to say please don’t leave me; Steve squeezes back. You’re welcome, and I love you, and never.

Jason is listless at first, when Steve is done with Bucky and rubbing the boy’s knees in hopes of getting a reaction; it’s like that mission when the clown gang attacked. Bucky rubs the tear marks away and kisses his head and Jason snaps back to them, like a light switch.

“I’m gonna kill her,” he mutters against Steve’s collarbone where he’s being held; Steve ruffles his hair, gently.

Neither ask what it was Jason saw; they can guess. If Bucky remembered, Jason probably did too; he does, however, ask what Steve saw when they’re at Clint’s farm. He keeps his voice quiet, glancing at the couch where Clint is handing Jason a bottle of water and having a silent conversation with Natasha.

“What…what did you see?”

Thor’s left; Bucky’s a little miffed at that. They’ve got a genocidal robot to stop, Thor’s vision can wait! Steve takes his hand.

“Uselessness.” He doesn’t elaborate, but Bucky thinks he can understand and he draws Steve closer, stiffly wraps his arms around him. He wants to be there for Steve, wants to provide the support Steve gave him; Steve holds him close.

In a facility so far away, a young girl looks at her hands and feels no satisfaction for the pain she’s inflicted.


	4. We thought we were bigger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please take the two following filler chapters and just sLAM DUNK THEM INTO THE DUMPSTER thank you

The stairs are rickety, creaky, unstable; Jason pulls a long blade of grass apart, strip by strip, section by section. Behind him, the screen door opens and bangs shut; footsteps, light and yet noticeable, come closer and stop just feet behind him.

“We’re sorry; Wanda especially.” It’s the witch’s brother, the one with the white hair and the fast legs. “She’s apologizing to your father right now.”

Jason whips around. “What?”

“Your father; the man with the metal arm.”

Jason turns back to looking over the farm; Steve carries a bushel of hay into the stables. “I don’t have a dad.”

“Oh,” the boy leaves it at that, takes a hesitant step forward. “Neither do I—we. Wanda and I; our father and mother were killed.” Another pause. “By Stark technology.”

Jason tosses the ruined grass onto the ground, and cringes away when Pietro takes a seat and the stairs squeak. “Sorry about that; your parents.”

Pietro runs his hands over his pants. “What happened to yours?”

A shrug; too many parents to go through. “One was murdered, one ODed, another disowned me—or I disowned him, not too sure anymore—and then Steve and Bucky are…” Jason doesn’t call them his parents; while they parent him, they aren’t necessarily dad. He’s never labeled them as such; he’s called them his guardians, and the school has them down as his emergency contacts, but to be fair so is Tony and Natasha and Banner. So Jason shrugs.

“It is…complicated?”

Jason huffs a laugh. “I guess so…”

“I’m sorry about your parents.”

Jason watches Steve lead a pinto to the paddock, let the mare loose, and return to the stables for the gelding. “Why’d you guys side with that robot anyways?”

Pietro rubs at the back of his neck, embarrassed, sheepish, humbled. “He promised us justice for what happened to our parents; we didn’t know… We didn’t think further than that.” Wanda had said at one point that they were both equal parts logic and action, but that sometimes that wasn’t always good; that sometimes, their logic was blinded by the want to act and as such they were found to stumble blindly into a fight. “Then Wanda learnt of his true intentions and your friends showed up and we…we sided with you. We side with you.”

Jason looks over his shoulder at the screen door; he can just barely make out Bucky, arms crossed, posture rigid and defensive. In front of Bucky’s bulk is the witch; she’s remorseful in the way she carries herself, rubbing at her arm and keeping her eyes downcast, muttering quietly. Beyond them, a shadow moves; Jason wishes Natasha would come out and give him a glass of lemonade. He could go for some lemonade; he could go for some backup.

“I’m sorry; I think I’m making you uncomfortable. Wanda says I have no sense of tact or personal space.” Pietro hops down the stairs quick; “I’m probably not allowed to leave, am I?”

“We are trying to fly under the radar out here, ya know.”

Pietro nods; he’s looking out over the open land, shifting from foot to foot and tugging at his shirt sleeve, nervous and unsure. Shaken, maybe, maybe scared…

Jason rolls his eyes. “For fuck’s… do laps around the house if you have to!”

Only a moment’s hesitation before the boy takes off in a blur; Jason watches the colors enrapture the house, peers past the shifting boy to where Steve has come to stand. Steve flaps his arms, asking what’s going on; Jason shrugs back, leans forward to pluck another piece of grass, and the screen door opens again. It’s quieter this time, and it’s not left to slam shut; she turns to set it gently back into place. Jason is on his feet in a second, not taking notice of the blur stopping.

The witch blinks at him, opens her mouth to say something.

“Don’t,” Jason warns.

“I—”

“Don’t!” Accompanied is a glare. “Don’t.”

Pietro steps forward to stand next to his sister. “She wants to apologize.”

“I don’t care.” Jason flinches; there had been a hand slapping him, when he had just been little and standing between his dad and his drugged mom. There had been a lizard man throwing him across the sewers, a clown laughing, a set of numbers in the dark… He’d come out of the trance, seeking what he sought after bad nightmares, and found Bucky _cowering_ in a corner, disturbed too. He remembers the pain, the terror, the adrenaline rushing through him, and the weakness in his joints.

“Jason…” But Wanda settles a hand on her brother’s arm, pulling him back.

“He has every right,” she says, “to be upset.”

Damn right, he wants to say, but he’s sucking in too much air. A hand settles on the small of his back and he jumps; it’s just Steve, being there for support.

Wanda turns to go back inside. She calls over her shoulder “I am sorry for what I did” and Jason doesn’t want to believe her.

Steve is still there, gently moving his hand over Jason’s spine. “Jay? Why don’t we go find Natasha? Clint said she was making lemonade earlier.”

Jason could go for some lemonade; he could go for some backup, so he nods stiffly and lets Steve lead him inside. Bucky is nowhere to be found and Steve settles Jason in the breakfast nook, chatting with Natasha about the mare named Oakwood. Nat sets a tall glass of lemonade in front of Jason and runs a hand through his hair.

“You need a shower, pipsqueak.”

Jason gulps down the lemonade, but doesn’t relax. Not until Tony comes in and shoves a StarkPad into his hands with lengthy equations Tony complains he can’t solve; Jason knows he’s lying. These are easy equations.

That night, the farmhouse—for all its land—is crowded with the set of Avengers and two experimental twins; Bruce and Tony are given the two guestrooms, Nat and Clint bunking in the master bedroom, with the twins shown to the dining room and Steve, Bucky, and Jason left with the couches in the living room. The twins are given sleeping bags, with the other trio given extra bedding and comforters.

Steve goes to work padding the floor for whoever is going to be given it; with only two couches, and neither big enough to comfortably hold two men at once, someone will have to sleep on the floor. That someone, Jason can guess, is him; he volunteers before Steve can. He curls with his back flush against the couch, eyes riveted to the doorway leading to the dining room, and calculates how fast he’ll have to be to reach his guns on the coffee table pushed out of the way; but with a kid who could give the Flash a run for his money—pun intended—Jason doubts anything could save him.

A cold hand settles in his hair and he looks up sharply; Bucky is peering over the side of the couch, shifting his not-hand through Jason’s hair. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

“Can’t,” he mumbles.

“They’re not going to hurt you; I promise.”

A Bucky promise is as good as gold, as good as a Steve promise, and Jason eventually finds sleep with the gentle coaxings of his kind-of-sort-of-not-dad.

The following day, they’re headed to Sokovia; Pietro has been sat besides Jason on the helicarrier, Wanda on his other side. He tries to ignore both of them, checks and rechecks the clip on his guns, tries to come up with a reason why Bucky should obviously not have given Steve a make out session during boarding earlier. Seriously, eww.

“We will be a good team, yeah?”

Jason observes Pietro, and Pietro stares right back; he’s grinning hopefully.

“You are understanding, and we’ll be on the same wavelength. We appear to be near similar age, and to have the same thought process during a fight.” He scratches at his chin. “I watched you spar this morning with Hawkeye.”

Jason shoves the gun in his holster; he doesn’t like to be watched, not by these two. Wanda twiddles her thumbs on the other side of Pietro, quiet but deadly, and Jason avoids looking at her. “Whatever…”

“You know,” Pietro’s voice has lost its hopeful casualness and gone frustrated. “I wonder if you have a lot of friends considering you are not the best conversationalist I’ve ever met.”

“Pietro,” Wanda chastises. “We’ve only met twenty-five people.”

A laugh bursts out, if only because it’s really sad that they can count the number of people they’ve had a deeper conversation with than _“that’ll be thirty-five dollars”_. Jason shakes his head, smirking, and thumbs a beat against his thigh. “That’s sad.”

Pietro shrugs. “Perhaps, but I hold out hope to meet more people in the future.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to be less inclined to side with robots in the future—sorry, Vision, _psychopathic_ robots.”

Vision glances at him, then away; Jason doesn’t think he likes all these new additions to the Avenger family.

“You’ll see,” Pietro keeps talking. “We’ll work together like cogs in a clock.”

Jason stares at the other boy; can’t he tell he’s not interested in working with them?

“Fine,” Pietro says. “How about this? A friendly wager: I bet I can take down more bad guys than you can.”

Bucky makes a strangled noise across the helicarrier and Jason glances over just in time to see Steve jabbing an elbow into his ribs; Bucky grips his gun tighter. “A wager?” Jason clarifies. “And what, pray tell, will I win?”

“Ohh, you think you’ll win?”

Jason shrugs. “Don’t see why not; I’ve been doing this sort of thing…” Since he was Robin? Since he was a toddler chasing off bookies come to collect their money? “…since I was a little kid.”

Pietro grins. “You’ll win my loyalty.”

Jason’s smirk is sardonic. “Charming.”

“And what will I win?”

Jason hums, pondering. “A kitten,” he says; Duchess is due any day now and he doesn’t want to see them stay on the streets. If only Tony wasn’t allergic, he’d hide the cats in his apartment…

Pietro looks shocked for a moment, blinking owlishly. “A…kitten?”

Jason nods; Pietro grins wide, and agrees readily.

Sokovia is a mess when they arrive, floating in the sky, higher and higher, and there are already broken bodies strewn about the streets from shaken buildings; almost immediately, Ultron gets them all separated, spread out. Jason thinks Steve is digging an elderly couple out of the rubble, and Clint is definitely the cause of those explosions—unless it’s Natasha. Ohh, there goes the Hulk. Jason fires a shot off at an approaching robot and jumps out of the way of its skidding fall; one, he tallies, and hurries forward to take down another one.

He keeps track of civilians he’s saved too, counting up to fifty besides the thirty-seven enemies defeated, before a robot gets the drop on him and, for some reason, his helmet is shattered and there’s blood dripping into his eyes and his head is spinning; his vision is blue—no, that’s the sky—why is he on his back? He turns to the side, spots Clint a few feet away with a kid in his arms, and Jason tries valiantly to stand—to move, to hurry forward and get Clint and the civilian out of the way of the robot’s crosshairs.

Clint turns his back on the robot and Jason sees what’s going to happen next; he’s shielding the kid with his body, like a good hero, willing to be torn to shreds to save one life. Jason gets to his knees when a blur shoots past, shoves a car to shield Hawkeye, and the bullets still rip through flesh.

Jason’s running, a stumbling thing, and he comes to a tumbling stop when Clint looks at Pietro with wide eyes.

“Bet you didn’t see that coming,” Pietro wheezes, and then he falls. Still. Everything is still, is slow, is quiet; Jason’s ears ring. Blood pools around Pietro, slowly, insignificantly and coldly and Jason shivers; it’s a silhouette of the boy, a marker for his last stand.

Somewhere down the road, a shriek echoes—somehow silent too—and his nerve endings are on fire, ripping themselves apart, trying to dig themselves out of his body; his muscles spasm, red filtering into his vision, his blood roaring. He is feeling but it’s not all him, it’s a severing of contact always having been there, a slow ripping apart of a paper into jagged unusable strips, the sound of nails on a chalk board as they chip away until its broken in half.

Slowly, a soul is ripped apart and Jason knows it isn’t his.

Slowly, a soul is ripped apart and Wanda wreaks havoc as she grieves.


	5. Villains in my head

Steve keeps a hand on Jason’s shoulder and Bucky sits in the corner with Clint; their muttering between each other talking what comfort they can give. Steve looks about the small crowd gathered, catches sight of Thor’s saddened eyes, so strange on the effervescent god, returns Sam’s supportive smile. Steve rubs Jason’s shoulder to get his attention. “Why don’t we go get something to drink?”

Jason doesn’t say anything, and Steve isn’t sure if this is his brooding silence or his seething silence. Either way, he finds it worrying and looks about the room in hopes of discovering Wanda; she wasn’t at the funeral. When Jason shrugs him off, he lets the boy go; Steve stands finally, glancing back at the boy.

“Are you thirsty? Do you want something to drink?”

Jason glares; so, a seething silence then. Steve can work with that; he goes into the kitchen, breezes pass Vision. When he comes back, a glass in both hands, Jason is gone; Steve gets Bucky’s attention and he excuses himself from Clint.

“What’s going on?”

“Jason left.”

Bucky looks around too, smiles politely at Rhodey, and marvels that the last time they were all gathered like everyone was laughing. “I’ll go find him.”

Steve hands over one of the glasses. “How’s Clint doing?”

Bucky glances back; Natasha has gone to sit with Clint, gripping his hand in silent support. “He’s taking it hard, like all of us.”

“I’m sure.” Steve chews his cheek; “Go find Jason; maybe we should head home.”

“I’ll find him,” Sam butts in; he gives both superheroes a pointed look. “All I’m saying is that you two need to recover too.” He pats Steve on the shoulder as he brushes past; while both look relieved to have support during this time, both still seem hesitant to let Sam handle their kid. It’s understandable; he, admittedly, doesn’t know Jason very well. They’ve met on occasion, bantered, grown close if only because Steve is good friends with Sam, but Jason hasn’t opened up to Sam at all and Steve nor Bucky are willing to share what the boy’s been through.

Sam’s been briefed on the basics; on the Joker and a brief history of Jason’s introduction to the Avengers. It’s an interesting story.

Sam steps out into the hall, and then goes for the elevator; it would probably have been easier to at least get some hint from Bucky or Steve before setting out, and probably would have saved Sam the following two hours he spends scouring the tower for the boy. When he’s satisfied Jason isn’t anywhere in the tower, he steps out onto the street—and immediately feels stupid, because there’s Jason on a bench with a cat sitting next to him.

Sam steps closer. “You’re going to catch a cold.” The cat mrowls unhappily, then hisses angrily, bristling; Sam stares her down curiously.

Jason pets her mangy hair and shrugs. “Don’t care.”

“You scared Steve; Bucky was going to come looking for you.”

“I’ll be home before it gets dark.”

Sam knows it’s meant to be a sort of joke, seeing as how home is literally a yard in front of him. “Well that’s good.” Sam tucks his hands in his jacket pocket. “Do you want to talk about what happened, Jason?”

He shakes his head. “This is Duchess,” he says instead. “She lives a few alleys over, that way. She’s gonna have a litter of kittens soon.”

Sam nods. “That’s nice.” The wind picks up. “Why don’t you come back inside, Jason?”

“I’ll come back in when I’m good and ready,” he snaps; the cat hisses again, and Sam backs off.

“Alright; but, you know, you have my number if you ever want to talk. Okay? It’ll just be between us two,” he promises; he waits a moment, for Jason to reach out for help, but when he doesn’t Sam turns back inside. He tells Bucky where Jason is and that the kid will come in when he’s ready; unspoken, he thinks he’ll talk when he’s ready too.

That night, Bucky lays awake in his bed and listens to Jason shuffle and clang around the kitchen; he cooks, Bucky has learned, when he can’t sleep. He said it was something he and Alfred would do when he still lived in the manor and it calms him; Jason hasn’t slept in three days. Every time Bucky closes his eyes, he sees his hands covered in blood and then he sees Pietro lying on the escape vehicle, cold and still; he sees Jason’s haunted look, wonders what Jason sees when he closes his eyes.

What Bucky thinks is that _that could have been Jason_ and then he thinks _it was at one point_ and he’s ashamed to think of Jason in this scenario when Pietro is dead.


	6. Wish we could turn back time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, Im posting this exhaustedly coked up on MountainDew so my judgment is...not very good; come tomorrow, I may rewrite the past two chapters...

When morning comes, Bucky wakes to a quiet house and a cold bed; he takes his time rolling out of bed, wastes time letting the water run in the sink, splashes cold water on his face and washes his hands. He peeks into Jason’s room when he finally emerges; the door is ajar, the room is encased in shadows, and the bed is a complete mess. Blankets are thrown at the foot of the bed, Jason’s pillow halfway off the mattress; Bucky wonders if he slept at all.

He makes his way down the hallway and into the living room, catches sight of his kid on the couch; Bucky watches him, carefully, gauging. “Have you had breakfast?” his voice is overly loud in the quiet.

Jason shrugs, tosses his head no.

Bucky takes his jacket from the coat closet, fits it on, and rolls up the sleeves. “I’m going to check on Clint.”

Jason shrugs again, though it’s barely noticeable. “Whatever.”

Bucky hovers by the door. “Try to eat something.”

“Just get out of here.”

He’s been pushing them away ever since they returned from Sokovia… “Jason—”

“Go!”

He waits; he rubs at the exposed part of his metal arm and lets Jason fold in on himself again, recover from his outburst. “Kiddo, you aren’t the only one hurting right now, but we’re here to help you through it; you can keep pushing me and Nat and Steve and everyone else away, but we’re still going to come back.”

In some twisted logic, Jason doesn’t want them to; Jason wants them gone, as if that would keep them safe. He lies to himself, saying he wants to keep them safe when he just doesn’t want to hurt again. He is tainted. “No one asked you to play babysitter.”

Bucky twists the door knob and turns to go; he’s pushed Jason enough for now, uncharacteristically cautious when it comes to this particular topic. “You should talk with Wanda.” They can help each other, he thinks; or at least hopes…

But Jason doesn’t want to think about Wanda, Wanda’s scream, Wanda’s face, Wanda’s magic coursing through him and banging around in his head; Jason doesn’t want to think about Wanda because thinking about Wanda makes him think about Pietro. Thinking about Pietro makes him remember the blood, and remembering the blood makes him remember why Pietro is dead, remembering the blood makes him wonder what he had looked like.

It’s hours later, judging by the shadows across the walls, when Jason comes back to reality.

There‘s someone pounding on the door, Jason registers vaguely, and his next thought is _Steve’ll get it_ ; then he remembers Steve is away helping with the rebuilding efforts, and Bucky has gone to visit Natasha and Clint. So Jason will have to get it; Jason will have to drag his limbs from the couch where he’d settled hours ago, will have to move his eyes from that fascinating spot on the wall, and will have to converse with whoever the _fuck_ was _still_ banging on the door.

Whoever is so persistent is obviously a resident of the Tower, and as such knows Jason is in there; if he doesn’t move fast, he’ll have to explain to Bucky why the door was kicked in and whatever Avenger was apologizing profusely in their living room. With more energy than he thinks is worth it, he drags himself to his feet; for a minute he stays there, blinking in hopes of color returning to the furniture, allowing the pins and needles in his feet to disappear. Slowly, they leave but the colors stay elusive and Jason floats to the door, rubs a hand across his face to catch any leftover moisture; the banging is beginning again, and a voice is calling out now too.

With a great heave, Jason takes hold of the handle and settles into the well-worn mask of annoyance.

The door swings open with a vengeance and Jason glares out; he hopes Peter doesn’t notice his red cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, or the grease layered in his hair. “I’m really not in the mood for an interview right now, Parker.”

“I…I know, er—I figured, I just… I came to see how you were doing; uh, Vision let me up…” Peter stuffs his hands in his pockets; the other boy doesn’t look good. There’re yellowing bruises fading beneath his shirt sleeve, disappearing onto his shoulder, and his eyes are bloodshot, his breathing heavy and shallow.

Everything swims; in and out and everywhere and Jason leans upon the door. This sucks… Whatever this is, it sucks and Jason wants to strangle it; if he could get his hands on it, on whatever is weighing his brain down and making his eyes sting, maybe it would go away. But he doesn’t have energy for that right now.

“Are…are you…” Of course he isn’t ok; he’d just lost a friend. It’s all over the news; _new Avenger dies immediately._ And Peter knows well about loss. “Can I do anything for you?”

When Jason continues to stare and breathe, Peter speaks again.

“What can I do?”

There’s a bone achingly deep sincerity to his voice and Jason is hit with the thought that this is possibly his _last friend_ standing before him; bushy brows folded in upon themselves, eyes wide and hurting, posture unsure but willing. Willing to be here for Jason, to support Jason, and maybe that’s ok; maybe it’s ok to let others near, if just for now. Later, later Jason can lock them away in a box and never touch them again.

He reaches forward and Peter stays still, allows him to grab hold of Peter’s jacket and tug; Peter stumbles into the apartment and Jason slams the door shut, as if afraid of something. Of something coming in or of Peter going out. He keeps his hold on Peter’s jacket and Peter goes willingly where he directs, to the couch in the living room, and obeys when Jason pushes him onto it.

Jason sits on the other side, pressed against the arm rest, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms curled around his ribs; he looks small, and Peter realizes with a jolt that that’s what he is trying to do—to make himself small, to have the couch swallow him whole and not spit him out for a while. Without thinking, Peter sticks his hand into the tight tangle of limbs and wrestles an arm free, pulling it so Jason’s arm is stretched across the cushion separating them and Peter can grip his hand tight.

Jason only fights at first, pushing Peter away, but when Peter only draws his arm away, Jason lets him; he sits, still hunched on himself and against the couch, but holding tight to the other boy’s hand. When Peter squeezes, Jason can’t fight it anymore; the pressure had been building for a while now, always threatening to spill, and now his eyes sting and his throat closes. He squeezes back. “Stay,” he croaks out, ducking his head into his knees to hide.

Peter holds on tighter. “Sure.”


	7. This race is a prophecy

“You can fight me on this if you want to.” Bucky knows he wants to; he sees it in the tensing of Jason’s jaw, the curve of his shoulders, the jut of his chin.

But Jason just glares at him, all huddled in his jacket, and Wanda sways by the door; she’s wearing a dress, like all the others she likes, but this one is a dark blue plaid with a set of low boots on her feet, a thin sweater over her shoulders. Bucky wonders if he should tell her to change, that it’s cold out, but she seems comfortable and able to look after herself; she’s got Nat and Clint to badger at her.

“Or,” Bucky continues. “You can meet your friends for coffee and socialize, like a normal teenager.” Bucky thinks he should’ve pushed Jason to make friends sooner; maybe that would have helped him when Pietro… “Just for two hours; you can do that for me, right, Kiddo?”

Bucky’s relieved when Jason sticks his tongue out and bristles pass Wanda and out the door; it’s better than a glare, but still somehow cold and threatening like a safe middle finger. He gives Wanda an encouraging smile and shuts the door when she slips out.

Jason thinks he might suffocate, but then Harry is waving a hand around his face and the steam disappears; Wanda, across the table and leaning on Peter because apparently Peter gives off a nice warm aura, smiles at him gently. He glares at Harry and pulls his cup closer; Harry can just go right back to his triple dark chocolate melted truffle mocha and leave Jason’s chai tea alone. “Don’t you have a company to run?”

“Don’t you have a class to be attending?” Harry shoots back.

Wanda kicks her feet under the table; Jason can hear her shoes shuffle across the floor. She hasn’t touched her latte. He hasn’t touched his tea; Natasha says it’ll calm him. He doesn’t believe her. “Fuck off,” he mutters down at his tea.

“Well,” Peter pipes up and Wanda looks at him through her lashes. “This has been an invigorating conversation; if I didn’t know any better, I’d say Jason doesn’t want to be here right now.”

“I could be in a board meeting right now,” Harry mumbles. “So this is ten times better.”

“Go run your damn company!”

Peter sighs; “Alright, we’re going to play a game.”

Harry perks up at that.

“We’re going to go around the table and talk about something fun and exciting we did recently. I’ll start; three days ago, I got some really good shots of Spiderman in downtown Manhattan. Jason, your turn.”

“This is stupid…”

Harry pulls his arm back to jab Jason, hard, but Jason moves fast and elbows his ribs first; Harry glares.

Sighing, Jason sips his tea. “Today, I went to Starbucks with two morons and a witch.”

Peter gives him a somewhat disappointed look, but turns to Harry. “You next.”

“I planned the many ways I’m going to take down Stark _and_ Wayne Enterprises.”

Jason pours half of his glorified leaf water into Harry’s cup. “Fuck off.”

“Wanda!” Peter exclaims, completely ignoring the fight between the two boys; Harry tries to pour some of his mixed beverage into Jason’s cup, but Jason moves his cup away fast and they end up spilling all over the table. “What about you?”

She moves away from Peter, takes a small sip of her latte, puts it down again. “I went to a park and petted a dog.”

“Ohh, what breed? Was it at tiny one?” Peter bodily turns towards her, one hand moving his own cup from the steadily spreading mess and the other going for napkins, all while keeping his eyes trained on her. “I love dogs, they’re great animals.”

From somewhere beneath Jason’s elbow where Harry’s in a headlock, his voice muffles out “no you don’t, you’re allergic!”

After nearly getting kicked out for disrupting other costumers, they go their separate ways; Peter and Harry bundle into a limo with the OsCorp logo on the side, Peter offering them a ride. Both decline; the Tower is only a few blocks over and the weather’s nice enough. Besides, Jason doesn’t think he can deal with anymore socializing and antagonizing. As soon as the limo pulls away, he turns down the street and hurries through the snow. Behind him, he hears Wanda’s soft footsteps; for a while, they walk in silence and if Jason didn’t know their destination was the same place he would think they weren’t travelling together.

“What did the other sorcerer tell you?”

Jason whirls on her; “what?” he barks.

She watches him, curiously. “The other sorcerer; the one with green magic.”

He thinks of Loki making a crater, but he also thinks of liquid being forced into his lungs in a cave while Ra’s watched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He called you vile.”

Jason glares harder; he hates magic, he decides then and there. He hates it for existing, he hates it for flowing through his veins, he hates himself. “If you know, why would you ask?”

Now she’s looking somewhere over his shoulder; he can guess what she sees. Cars and people and a reflection in a glass window of two kids missing half of themselves. Finally, she comes back to him. “Why would he say that?”

“How the fuck should I know?” he starts walking, listens to her feet pick up shortly after.

It’s beginning to snow when she talks again; her voice is even, if a bit dreamy, and she speaks low—for his ears only. “He was wrong about you.”

He wonders if she’s in his head, again, reading his thoughts and _fears_. “Can’t you just shut up for five more minutes?” He can go back home, tell Bucky he took Wanda out, they had a grand old time with the Parksborns, and lock himself in his room until dinner; he’ll be happy with that.

She does, oddly enough, shut up and at the next crossing Jason checks on her; she’s grinning, staring at him like she sees something he doesn’t. (It’s the first time since Sokovia that she’s smiled that genuinely) For all he knows, she’s reading his mind again or his energy waves she says she can see. “We are going to make a great team,” she says; then she’s linking arms with him and dragging him across the street, to the tower they call home.

He would like to say then is when the pieces fall into place, but it’s not; it’s just a beginning, once more, and even at that it doesn’t feel incredibly promising.


End file.
